Thy High Requiem
by StarSpray
Summary: (Better to Have Loved) "Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— / To thy high requiem become a sod."
1. Chapter 1

I see him first among his people, as I hover invisible, unbodied, above them. He sits before a fire, his hair glinting orange in its light, eyes shimmering with the light of Telperion and Laurelin, as do the eyes of only two others in this vast company of Ilúvatar's Firstborn. I hear their voices mingling together, jumbled and unintelligible through many hundreds of conversations as they rest in their Journey. Somewhere, a maiden raises her voice in sweet song, and is soon joined by her companions, both in voice and on carefully carved flutes of wood.

There are so _many_. And these are not all: others have not heeded the call of Oromë, and remained yet beside the waters of Cuiviénen, and more still who began the journey but wavered and turned aside, falling in love with these lands as they crossed them and finding themselves unwilling to leave. These I understand, for I have fallen in love too, with the snowcapped, jagged mountains, and the wide open, rolling plains with pale grass rippling like waves in the breeze. With the snowmelt trickling into rivulets, into streams, into creeks and then into mighty rivers that I have followed until they spill into the sea, all the way echoing the Music that we sang before Ilúvatar in his halls outside of Time.

It is the forests I love most. I was there when Yavanna first coaxed the most delicate seedlings from the earth, and delighted in their pale leaves unfurling beneath the stars. The world lies in slumber, now. It is hard to call the brilliant starlight overhead meager, but it is not enough for growing things to flourish as they should – as they do in the golden light of Laurelin across the Sea. But my heart lies beneath the stars; I danced among them as Varda flung them into the sky, and I love the silver-grey and black shades of this twilit land.

I spring away from the golden fires dotting the land to the sky where diamond flames reign, the one with Tree-lit eyes falling from my memory like sand through fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

I see him next in the forest. He walks alone, now, singing a song, hair glimmering like starlight spun into threat finer than the silks constantly twined in the fingers of Vairë. I have been sitting in the branches of a great tree, teaching songs to the nightingales, but I fall silent upon seeing him. His face tips upward, and his lips curve in the sweetest smile as he stops his own singing to listen to the music of my nightingales. I watch, entranced, as he stops. His eyes, Telperion-bright, scan the branches in search of the birds, whose grey feathers hide them almost perfectly in the shadows.

Lightly, soundlessly, I drop to the ground, out of sight, and pull on like a cloak the raiment of the Eldar – and stand utterly still to gaze at my hands, pale in the starlight, with long slender fingers, and my arms, covered by feather-light and -soft cloth. Hair black as the deepest shadows tumbles around my shoulders as I lightly touch my face, blinking through new eyes.

I have never done this before. My chest expands and shrinks with every lungful of forest fragrant air I breathe, and a heart beats deep within. I can feel the blood flowing in newly formed veins just beneath my skin. How fragile are these creatures! Yet how hardy!

My garments whisper along the carpet of leaves that I walk across, marveling at how they crumble beneath every step, as I make my way around the tree to see face to face this bright-eyed Elda.

But already he fades into the trees! I discard the body I have put on, and it fades to dust as I speed ahead of him, to an open starlit glade where fireflies like tiny lanterns danced. When he emerged in a swirl of golden lights, I step forward, reaching for him, for I crave the touch of another. He stops, stern features going slack with wonder, and reaches toward me with trembling hands. I clasp his, warm and strong and calloused, and if he is held enthralled then I am also, and time stands still; I feel as though I have fallen under a deep enchantment, but I have no desire to break it.


	3. Chapter 3

Elwë's people greet us with astonishment and joy – at his return after so many years (yet it feels as though we merely blinked), and at my presence. I am surrounded by bodies, warm and solid, and perhaps I should feel shy, but I do not, for the heart beating within my chest belongs now to Elwë, our spirits joined in the sweetest song, and his people shall be my people, all smiling faces and starlit eyes.

But his joy at reuniting with his brother Elmo and his nephews is but short lived – for where is Olwë? Many people throng about us, but far fewer than I have seen before. Where is Olwë, and what has happened to his people?

Gone, we are told – they feared Elwë was lost, perhaps taken by servants of Melkor, and Olwë took his brothers place and led most of the Teleri across the Sea. But many stayed behind, unwilling to forsake Elwë, under the leadership of Elmo. Will they now follow Elwë, they ask? Will they complete the Great Journey?

Elwë turns to me, and smiles. There is sadness behind his eyes, for his brother is gone, but he declares, "I have long desired to dwell for ever in the Light of the Trees, and behold! here it shines, in the face of Melian, fairest of the servants of the Blessed Realm."

We will remain here, in the Outer Lands in eternal twilight; this proclamation is met with joy by Elwë's people, for in searching for their lord they, too, have fallen ever deeper in love with the woodlands and the starlight. Like the Avari and Nandor before them, they turn away from the Great Journey and forsake the promise of Paradise to be found in Aman. Elwë is raised up as their king, with a crown fashioned of woodland branches, dark with leave, and I with him as his queen.


	4. Chapter 4

It is the most startling thing, to discover another fëa and hröa growing within oneself. Even more startling is the illness that comes with it, and I find myself surrounded by women's gentle laughter. We sit among the wildflowers in Eglador, beside the enchanted waters of Esgalduin, and they explain to me motherhood, and what it really means to carry a child within me.

To think I believed that _I_ would be the one to teach my husband's people, sharing with them the wisdom of the Ainur. Now I find there is so much I do not know, for rarely before this have I clothed myself in flesh. And so I must learn what they can teach me, ere I try to ascend to the role of teacher.

By the time our Lúthien is born, while the white niphredil blooms, I find my fëa bound so tightly to this hröa I have chosen that I cannot shed it with the ease I once had. Perhaps this should frighten me, but as I gaze at Lúthien my daughter, with her dark eyes and even darker hair and her red, wrinkled face and tiny, perfect fingers grasping at mine, I find myself thinking that I would happily spend all the ages of Arda as one of the Eldar, regardless of the pains and weariness.

Elwë, now called Elu in our people's changing tongue, holds Lúthien aloft and proclaims her our beloved princess, and the fairest of all Ilúvatar's Children. I am not sure if it is a mother's pride and love, or a glimmer of a Maia's wisdom, but I find myself agreeing.


End file.
